


Hard Day's Work

by orphan_account



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tensions have finally reached breaking point.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one of my oldies. The original fic was about the detectives on a stake-out together, which led to some cathartic sex that night, but I couldn't get the dialogue right in the stake-out part so I ended up scrapping it in frustration. Some folks requested I post the second half, which is just pure smut. 
> 
> Anyway, all you need to know storywise is they were on a stake out, tensions were high, but they ended up successfully getting the dirt on the guy.
> 
> Now their job is over and Ellie is dropping Hardy off at his hotel room.

After being trapped together in that bloody car on a stake-out all day, she thought she'd be glad to get away from him. She leaves him at the hotel room door, fully intending to drive back to Broadchurch straight away.

But for some reason, she stops. She glances back at him. He stands at the other end of the deserted corridor, his eyes fixed on her, intense, smouldering. It arrests her completely.

She suddenly feels taut. Strained. The distance between them is unbearable. She feels like she’ll tear if she takes another step.

She can tell he feels it too.

‘Miller,’ he calls.

‘Yes?’ she asks.

Instinctively, they both rush together, but they pull up short at the last second. Hardy bites down on his lip.

‘I didn’t say… mm.' He rubs the back of his neck. 'M’sorry things got a bit tense earlier. But – erm. Well done. Couldn’t have done it without you.’

Disappointment suffuses her. ‘It’s all right. I’m – er – glad we were in this together, in the end.’

She holds out her hand. He regards it for a moment, then grasps it in his own.

The touch is electrifying. It sets her ablaze from head to toe. His grip is firm, and the shake goes on far longer than is appropriate or necessary.

'Like - erm, having you. As a partner,' he manages.

'Yeah. We do work well together.'

On impulse, she pulls him forward, stands on tiptoes, and prints a kiss on his whiskery cheek.

They part and look at one another for a long moment. Some kind of communication evidently passes between them, for Ellie leans in again and Hardy kisses her full on the mouth. 

Everything crumbles at once. Every wall she’s built between them, her resolve, her self-control, her thoughts of consequences. She throws her arms around his neck and returns the kiss hungrily. He wraps his arms around her waist and presses her against the wall. He grinds his narrow hips against her and something like a growl escapes him. 

The solid contact leaves her utterly inundated with sensation. She spreads her hands over his broad, warm back, pulls his shirt free so she can run her hands over his muscled abdomen. Their kisses are hungry, desperate, needy. He surges forward with a ferocity that dazes her, and suddenly lifts her clean off the ground, grinding all his hard, lean weight against her while she wraps her legs around him.

She's amazed. He’d always seemed so frail, but four months with a working heart has evidently done him some good. He feels vital and _alive_ under her hands. She knots her fingers in his thick hair and a high-pitched keening escapes her when he starts kissing her neck.

She’s seconds away from shagging him here and now in this bloody hallway. ‘Hotel room,’ she mutters out between gasps as he nips her neck. The scratch of his beard sets her trembling. ‘Need… get to a room.’

She manages to wriggle out of his grip and regains her footing. Grabbing his tie, she hauls him down the corridor.

He can barely keep his hands off her for a moment. He kisses her shoulder, runs his fingers over her waist, grasps at her breasts. She manages to get them to his door, and since he’s clearly too busy to get his key, she finds it for him.

‘God, you’re handsy,’ she complains. She faces him and fumbles in his trouser pocket. She can feel his erection pressing against his thigh, and he groans.

‘Been thinking... 'bout this all day,’ he tells her. ‘Y'been driving me _crazy…’_

He squeezes her buttocks as she shoves the key in the lock, and they practically fall into the darkened, tiny hotel room.

Ellie pulls his tie free and lets it drop to the floor. He fumbles with the buttons of her blouse, grows irritated, and yanks it off. A button skitters across the floor. Shoes and socks are kicked off. There’s a fumble with trousers, and he’s shoving his hand down her pants, cupping her sex in his large hand, and for a moment he just holds it there, just lets her feel the strength in it, the warmth. She freezes at the touch, barely able to breathe. His eyes catch hers. They are almost black, the pupils blown completely to eclipse the irises, and she knows hers must look the same.

He moves his fingers slowly, finding the wetness that’s steadily soiling her knickers. Parts the pubic hair out of the way, rubs back and forth for a moment.

Then he pulls his hand free and she throws him back onto the mattress. She straddles him, leaning all the way over to kiss him. Her brown hair falls around her face and brushes his cheek.

‘Your hair’s getting long,’ he remarks as he tangles it in his fingers.

Ellie sits up and pulls her undershirt over her head, exposing her sensible beige bra. It’s far from sexy, but Hardy is appreciative anyway, and he runs his hand up her soft belly, over the stretch marks and the caesarean scar, up to her breasts and squeezes. She hastily unhooks the bra and they spill into his hands, full and round from nursing two children.

He makes a low sound of surprise. ‘Big,’ he says. He rolls her breasts in his palms, then sits up and takes one the nipples in his mouth, his hand steadying her against the small of her back. He sucks and flicks the nub with the tip of his tongue. ‘Y’ve been… mm, hiding these.’

‘No call for a – _ahhh_ – push-up bra when you’re a detective,’ she pants. He kisses his way to her other breast and sucks a hickey into the delicate, milky skin.

She unbuttons his shirt and eases it off, then pulls his undershirt over his head. He plays with her breasts the whole time, squeezing and fondling. ‘God,’ he groans, pressing his face to her sternum. She laughs at the feel of his beard prickling her skin.

Picking her up, he flips her onto her back and kneels between her legs. They both scrabble at the front of her trousers, and she shimmies off the knickers and trousers together. No sooner has Hardy divested her than he nudges her legs open, presses his face between her thighs and inhales. 

‘Y’smell good,’ he rumbles, and then suddenly clamps his hands around her thighs and pulls her towards him.

She yelps when she feels his mouth on her, bucks at the shock of it – why would he - ? No-one has ever done this without her having to ask first, and holy fucking _Christ,_ his _mouth_ on her – he’s lapping and sucking and growling like he’s starving. He has her thighs pinned open - probably a good thing, since the rest of her can’t stop moving. She writhes and twists, hoarse gasps tearing from her throat.

It’s been so long anyway, and she’s _never_ experienced anything quite like this. She can’t help but think how different he is from Joe – God, she doesn’t want to think about that man, least of all now – but _fuck_ , she realises what she’s been missing out on. This must be what it’s like to fuck someone who’s truly crazy for you.

He works two fingers inside her and her back arches. ‘Fuck, fuck, Alec - !’ she cries. He presses his fingers hard against the wall of muscle and she spasms.

He rumbles appreciatively at the noises she makes, the pleading and the gasping, the twist of her hips. He’s enjoying this – but whether it’s the act itself or her response he enjoys more, she can’t tell.

A spike of heat hits her, low in her belly. Every flick of his tongue has her twitching now. His fingers make a wet, filthy sound as they fuck in and out and her head drops back against the pillow. Her hands fist the sheets and she swears through her orgasm, utterly helpless in his hands.

At some point he ducks out from between her thighs to hover over her on hands and knees. She’s trembling, and when she sees his dark eyes come into view, a huge, slightly embarrassed smile splits her face, a gesture he returns. His eyes crinkle up in the most adorable way when he smiles - she feels cheated that she’s never seen that before. She pulls him down to kiss him, her hot tongue slicking in and out of his mouth. She can taste herself on him, slightly salty, and she takes advantage of the moment to fan her hands over his dark, hairy chest. She finds the pacemaker scar with her fingernail and traces it softly.

Her hand drifts lower. She rolls him onto his back and shimmies down. He’s a good size – not too big, but thick and solid. He watches her intently as she strokes up and down.

‘Y’don’t…’ he begins, but she cuts him off with a hum.

‘Want to.’

She takes the head of his cock into her mouth and a strangled sound escapes him. His hips stutter, and she bobs up and down experimentally, getting used to feel and girth of him. He enjoys it for a little, but as she flicks the head, his hand goes to her shoulder and presses hard – not hard enough to mark her, but hard enough to let her know the effort this is taking.

‘Nn… Ellie… want – want to fuck you,’ he mumbles. ‘Want to – feel my cock inside you.’

She wants it too. She’s wants to know what that thickness will feel like deep inside her. She rocks back on her haunches, lets him take charge again, lets him press her back down on the mattress. He kisses her tenderly.

And something about it is familiar.

As he settles over her, her thoughts turn unbidden to Joe. A flash of fear mingles with her arousal and she shrinks back. Memories of all the vanilla missionary sex she’d had with Joe flash through her mind. She’d never been all that adventurous in the bedroom, so she hadn’t minded Joe’s sweet yet passionless sex. But now she knows the truth, the horrible truth that she’s been wrestling with for so long, which haunts her day and night.

_Joe was a paedophile. He never loved me. He used my body to suppress his real desires._

She didn't want to think about this now. _God_ , why can't she stop thinking about it?

Hardy can sense something’s gone wrong. All the giddy joy has gone out of her. The shivery looseness from her first orgasm. She's taut, suddenly ready to snap. He frowns and draws back, idly caressing her thigh. ‘Mm?’ he asks.

She doesn’t know if she can explain.  _It's not you, it's me._ She wants to fuck him, badly, but Joe's got a grip on her consciousness she can't seem to shake.

‘Okay?’ he says uneasily. He runs his hand up and down her arm, and she can tell how important it is to him that she is.

She stops breathing. She's afraid she’ll start crying. Very carefully, he takes her head in between his hands, cradles her skull, and tips her towards him. His forehead bumps hers, his eyes search her own. The pads of his thumbs are callused and rough, but they are gentle against her cheeks. 

These are hands that know how to fire a gun. These are hands that have slapped chains upon the wrists of murderers and thieves. There is strength enough in them to snap her neck, or choke the life out of her, if he so chose. She’s dreamed about Joe’s hands, and how it might have felt if he had killed her – if he had shown his true self to her and not to Danny, if the mirror had cracked and he’d stopped reflecting her own happy, loving self, and exposed the devil that lay behind the glass. She even catches herself wishing he _had_ killed her. She’d chosen Joe, after all – she should've been the one to pay the price for letting the monster cross the threshold, but someone innocent had died instead.

A single tear runs down her cheek. He swipes it away with his thumb and strokes the hair from her face, twisting one of curls around his index finger before he brushes it back.

‘Ellie?’ he asks. ‘Okay?’

His hands. _His_ hands. So strong and kind and gentle. And careful. More careful than she'd thought possible. These are the hands that held her when her world had come crumbling down. These are the hands that tried their utmost to put her back together in the aftermath. These are the hands that pulled a little girl from a river edged with bluebells, that refused to let her go even when it started to drown him.

These were hands that would never hurt her. Not her, nor any innocent person, and certainly not a child. These hands could bruise sometimes, or make mistakes, but mostly, they healed.

She sighs, turns her face into his palm and kisses it. ‘Yeah,’ tells him. ‘M’okay.’ One of those hands drifts to her throat. His fingers find her pulse and the thumb traces her lips. She takes it between her teeth and bites down gently before moving it away again. ‘Can you fuck me from behind?’ she asks. She doesn't tell him the reason, but she just - needs this to be different from how it was with Joe.

His eyes widen slightly, then he nods. She rolls over and he kneels behind her. He palms himself for a moment, then shuffles forward and pulls her hips back. He leans over her, his hard stomach flush against her freckled back. A lifetime on the beach has left its legacy in uneven skin tone and pigmentation - he hums when he sees the outline of tanned skin marking where her bathers usually sit; almost chuckles, runs his tongue over the line. His breath is hot and damp on her neck and she shivers. He ruts back and forth a few times, settling into position, slicking his cock between her arse cheeks and against the wet lips of her cunt.

The sensation banishes the ghosts from her mind. A whine escapes her, ‘Alec,’ she says, ‘want – _need_ you…’ 

He’d been thrown by her brief discomfiture, but he's confident now. ‘M’gonna fuck you so good,’ he groans into the back of her neck. He nips at the skin, bites down, sucks a little bruise there. He boxes her in against the mattress, heavy upon her. It’s more claustrophobic, more confining than she thought she’d ever be comfortable with, but God she _loves_ it. Loves the feel of him, wants him to fuck her, wants his cock inside her, wants it _now -_

Joe had always been so mild. So understanding, so demure and quiet. She’d once boasted of how he’d been the perfect husband. Deep, deep down she’d always known something was wrong, but what could she have done? Berated him for being too pleasant, too agreeable? Started a fight over how deferential he was, the way he only ever seemed to mirror her own opinions, agree with whatever she said, because sometimes she wasn't quite sure if he were real?

As much as she’d hated Alec when she first met him, and his abrasive, contradictory personality, God she loved to fight him. The friction in their personalities set her heart racing in a way Joe never had. She _needed_ him, in all his infuriating imperfection. She needed the difference in their opinions and approaches, the opposing ways their minds worked, because it assured her that he was _real._

She needed him - exactly as he was, in the way that drove her crazy. She felt more alive with him than she’d ever felt before. A lifetime with Joe – sweet, vanilla Joe, the husband she’d thought he was – wouldn’t satisfy her as much as one day and one night with this abrasive arsehole and she knew it.

‘Fuck you good,’ he mumbles against the back of her neck, jerking her back into the present. She flushes with excitement, wriggles a little, pushes her hips back, reaches out to help guide him.

'Fuck me. I want it,' she says.

She feels the head of his cock catch against her entrance. She gasps, and suddenly he’s pushing in, slow and hard and _thick_ , and she whines, almost wails as he slides all the way inside her, locking them together.

His panting breath scorches her overheated skin for a moment, then he draws back his hips and starts to fuck her. She whimpers, high and needy, at the sensation. The sound of slapping skin fills the air and the smell of sex is heady and cloying.

To improve the angle, she ends up down on her elbows with her arse pushed up against him. His breath grows harsh as he ruts into her, delivering short, rough thrusts. His hand goes to the back of her neck and he pushes her down further, pressing her cheek against the cheap hotel sheets. The instinct to resist flashes through her, but he makes soothing little strokes against the nape with his thumb and she surrenders, trusting him, _trusting_ him with an instinct that trumps all others.

He starts to slow down, going hard and deep. His hand moves to her clit and a tremulous shudder seizes her all over. He nudges her knees further apart with his own, increasing the stretch, the pressure, and then his hand is stroking her in an obscenely delicious way.

Her knees give out as she whimpers through her orgasm, clenching around the length of his cock. He rumbles in deep satisfaction, keeps fucking.

‘Mm - Ellie, Ellie, Can I… come inside you?’ he asks. It suddenly occurs to him that neither of them had bothered to procure a condom.

‘Yeah,' she replies breathily. 'Yeah, I want you to. Want you to come inside me. Want it – _oh,_ want it…’

He gathers from this that she's on the pill, which she is, and not long afterwards he spills inside her with a long groan. He collapses on top of her. He's heavy and almost searingly hot, his breath harsh, his hands rough - he's different, different in every way and she's inexpressibly grateful for that.

In his need to hide his true nature, Joe had become what she wanted him to be; her vision of the perfect man. Alec - well, he was wrong in every way. The wrong height, the wrong body type, the wrong attitude, the wrong accent. He had a heart condition. He was a loner. Rarely laughed. Couldn't socialise. Hated Broadchurch. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He was the last man on earth she would have chosen, the furthest thing from her vision of perfect she could possibly have imagined.

Little wonder, then, that she ended up loving him so well, so truly, so deeply. Little wonder, when they are so alike at heart, beneath their superficial differences.

He is printing drowsy little kisses on her neck. She turns her face to the side to give him better access, and he threads his fingers through hers.

He starts making snuffly little sounds of amusement. 'What?' she asks, wondering what on earth Detective Inspector Alec Hardy could find funny at this time.

‘The police are paying for this hotel room,’ he tells her, grinning. ‘And technically, we’re still on the clock.’

She has no idea why he finds that so funny, but she laughs too.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll see you all in hell.


End file.
